


things i don't regret

by queerly_yours



Series: tumblr prompt fills [43]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, M/M, Pining, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4917520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_yours/pseuds/queerly_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles pulled back, arms wrapped around Boyd’s shoulders. “You never told me what I said.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	things i don't regret

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: stoyd + things you said when you were drunk

It was probably a mistake, drinking this much, Stiles thought. Especially when a certain werewolf was here, looking entirely too beautiful for his own good. Stiles sighed into his cup just as Scott plopped himself down to his right.

Scott gave him that soft, understanding smile and bumped his shoulder. “You gonna go over there or what?”

Stiles gaped at his best friend. “Wha? N-no. Not- uh-uh,” he stuttered, cheeks already pink from the alcohol deepened to a bright, burning red.

Scott raised his eyebrows, looked back and forth between Boyd and him, and nodded. “Okay, buddy. I’m going home with Isaac. You okay here?”

Stiles bobbed his head. “Yeah, Derek said I could…” he trailed off, distracted by the werewolf again. He was leaning against the wall opposite the couch nodding along to whatever Lydia was telling him. He looked like he was being scolded, but he was more amused than anything.

Scott’s laugh snapped him out of it. “Uh- I mean. I can crash on the uh-“ he squinted at the rectangular thing in the living room, willing the word to come to him. Why did he think trying to keep up with werewolf tolerance was a good idea? “The couch. Yeah. The couch tonight. Derek said so.”

Scott grinned knowingly at him. He stood up, patted Stiles on the shoulder, and reminded him to drink water before he passed out.

After an hour or so, everyone but him, Derek, and Boyd were still at the loft. Boyd and Derek lived there. His only excuse was that he was too drunk to even consider driving home, so he and Boyd relaxed on the couch and talked for a long while. The last thing he remembered was Boyd curling his hand around his ankle before he drifted off into sleep.

When he woke, the night sky was bleeding into day through the tall windows. He clamped his eyes shut and pushed further into the couch. No, not couch, he thought after a moment, but Boyd’s legs. He felt his heartbeat skyrocket, but before he could move, a hand reached down to run fingers through his hair, Stiles’ weakness. He sighed contentedly, leaning into the touch.

“You okay?” Boyd asked.

Stiles nodded his head against Boyd’s thigh. He didn’t remember how he ended up here, but he wasn’t going to complain. He was tired at any rate and still a little buzzed. They couldn’t have slept for more than three or four hours.

“Do you remember what you said last night?”

Stiles stilled and turned his head to squint up at Boyd. “No,” he whispered, but it came out as more of a question than a statement.

Boyd’s lips upturned into his small, private smile. The one Stiles has only seen a handful of times. Once when he saved Boyd the last Twix at the Halloween party. Once when Stiles Boyd stayed home from school on the anniversary of his sister’s death and Stiles showed up to keep him quiet company all day. Once when Stiles danced himself into the wall at the loft and put a bruise on his forehead the size of a lemon. Boyd brought him an icepack and put it on his head with that smile. And, of course, now.

“What’s that smile for?”

Without preamble, Boyd pulled Stiles up and pressed their lips together. Stiles made a small surprised sound before he melted under Boyd’s touch.

Somehow he ended up in Boyd’s lap, held with a firm grip, like Boyd thought he might fall. As if Boyd would ever let him fall.

Stiles pulled back, arms wrapped around Boyd’s shoulders. “You never told me what I said.”

Boyd grinned now. He reached up, running his thumb over Stiles’ pouty bottom lip then over his cheek. “You said that you loved me,” he said quietly.

Stiles mouth opened and closed. He blushed, turned his head to the right, trying to escape those questioning eyes. “What if I do?” he asked in a small, unsteady voice, heart pounding in his chest.

The hand at his cheek trailed down to his chin and turned him back towards Boyd. “Look at me. Please, Stiles.”

It wasn’t the command that had Stiles moving, but that soft, pleading voice. He looked into Boyd’s eyes, so warm and honest, and he knew.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
